Tchaikovsky
by Barcardivodka
Summary: After a difficult mission, Gaby discovers a secret that soothes her battered soul.


As awalys, with many thanks to my tireless beta, Jay.

Any mistakes or spelling errors are mine, and mine alone, so please do nto steal them!

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Gaby slowed as she approached the entrance to the hotel's ballroom, she paused at the tall, elegant, white and gold doors. One of them stood open, allowing the music to escape and swirl along deserted corridors, enticing an exhausted, but insomniac spy to seek out its source.

The last mission had been brutal, both physically and emotionally. Although it had been classed a success, too many civilians had perished at the hands of a mad man before UNCLE had been able to stop him.

The deaths weighed heavily in Gaby's heart. She had tried to console herself with the knowledge that the monster would never hurt another soul, but her mind had sided with her heart. She'd tossed and turned for what seem like hours, trying to push the memories of the mission away and all the 'what if we'd done something different?' questions that threatened to engulf her before giving up trying to sleep. She had gone to Illya's room, but there was no answer. After such a mission Solo would have found a woman to lose himself in for a few hours. She couldn't begrudge him that kind of solace; it was what she had hoped to find with Illya.

Another worry crowded her thoughts as she wandered the empty corridors, where was Illya? She feared he had tried to find his peace within a paradox of violence.

She took a step closer to the open door intrigued to find out who was playing the piano so beautifully. A hand suddenly covered her mouth, whilst an arm curled round her waist, pulling her away from the door. She drove an elbow into the abdomen of her assailant causing them to let out a grunt of air.

"It's me," Solo whispered in her ear. "Don't make a sound." The hand and arm disappeared and Gaby spun round to stare up at the smiling face of the American. She opened her mouth to demand what he thought he was doing, but he brought a finger to his lips and walked along the corridor, beckoning her to follow. Solo stopped at a deep gap in the wall, which had once been another entrance into the ballroom before being bricked over and decorated to fit in with the decor. He slid down the wall and sat crossed legged on the carpet, completely invisible from anyone walking down the corridor to or from the ballroom door from the direction of the reception.

Gaby paused for a moment before sitting down next to him. The music surrounded them both. Solo leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. It seemed to Gaby as if he was trying to absorb every note.

"Who is playing?" she asked in a whisper. "Why did you pull me away from the door?"

"It's Peril." Solo replied, opening his eyes and turning his head to look at her.

"What about Illya?" She frowned, misinterpreting the answer. "He said he was fine. Was he lying? I knew I shouldn't have left him to brood."

Solo left out a chuckle. "Peril's fine," he reassured. "He's the one playing the piano."

"What?"

"Peril is the one playing the piano. He might stop if he saw us listening." he repeated. "He's played some Mozart and List, but he's mainly kept to Russian composers." Solo sighed as if disappointed. "He really does need to broaden his repertoire."

"That's Illya?" Gaby looked at Solo incredulously, before slapping a hand over her mouth at the loudness of her voice. The music played on.

Solo nodded. "Another little piece of the puzzle that is our Russian friend."

"Is he good?" Gaby was familiar with classical composers, particularly those who had written ballets. But she had little knowledge of discerning if someone played a piece well or were lacking in skill. To her ear Illya played flawlessly.

"He's proficient," Solo replied, "but he's not good enough for the concert halls. If he'd had further training, perhaps." Solo shrugged. "He does have a unique passion and grace though, that's rather refreshing and intriguing."

"Do you think that was what he wanted to be? When he was younger?" Gaby moved closer to Solo and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad he's our Illya though," she confessed.

"Indeed. Unfortunately, Peril's fate was decided when his father was sent to the gulag. It was up to Peril to prove that the Kuryakin name was loyal to the motherland," Solo wrapped his arm around Gaby's shoulders and pulled her closer.

"What's he playing now?"

Solo smiled. "Tchaikovsky. Who it would appear is his favourite."

"How long have you been here?"

"I followed Illya." Solo admitted. "When we've had a difficult mission and if there's a piano tucked away somewhere, he'll play for hours."

"And you listen?"

Solo nodded.

Gaby lifted her head and looked up at him. "Why did you never tell me?"

Solo hugged her closer and she leaned against him again. "Because you would have missed the pleasure of discovering this for yourself." He placed his chin on the top of her head. "And it wasn't my secret to tell."

"Do you think he knows you know?"

"He knows. As he delights in telling me, I'm a terrible spy." Gaby could feel the vibration of Solo's laugh against her cheek.

"And still he plays."

"And still he plays," Solo confirmed. "But only ever for us."

They sat there in silence as long minutes ticked by, the music soothing away the horror of the mission from all three of their battered souls.

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Just out of interest - Tchaikovsky's father was called Illya ;)


End file.
